I Beg To Differ

Lucille was nervous waiting for her interview. She wanted this part. It
wasn’t big, but it could lead to big things. The script called for a woman
who could handle romantic comedy with an erotic edge. She could do all
that. She was sure of it. She had gotten the interview after all, her first
in months. Now if she could just land the part, surely other parts would
follow. Eventually a major studio was bound to notice. This could be her
Big Break. Lucille tended to think in capital letters.

It seemed like eternity, although it was barely twenty minutes, before the
dazzling secretary finally called her name. “Miss Lawton? You can go in
now.”

“Thank you,” Lucille responded primly. She tried to ignore the secretary.
The woman was so obviously an ornament: perfect hair, perfect face,
astonishing figure, even by film industry standards. Lucille had always
been considered a well developed young woman, but compared with the fantasy
behind the desk over there she was positively flat. Definitely a case of
Silicone Enhancement, Lucille thought. She would never let anyone do that
to her. Besides, she didn’t need any help.

The wall behind the secretary’s perpetual megawatt smile announced the name
of the production company, Mesmer Films, in big gold letters. Lucille had
never heard of them. That was no big concern, there were innumerable small
outfits in this town.

She had tried to do a little background research on Mesmer Films, to look
informed for her interview, but she hadn’t found much. There had been a
story in the paper a year or two earlier about a film that had embedded
subliminals in it, so powerful they provoked all sorts of outrageous
behaviour in audiences that watched it. The name of the company was the
same, but Lucille didn’t believe any of it. The story sounded like typical
film industry hoopla. It was the kind of tale a desperate promoter would
concoct to draw attention to his lousy movie.

Lucille got to her feet and inspected herself carefully. First impressions
were everything. Her thick blonde hair was worn up, revealing her clear,
symmetrical features. She wore a slim, knee- length skirt in dark blue and
a long, button-down sweater that didn’t overplay her chest too much. For
once, Lucille wanted to be hired for her acting ability, not for her
headlights. She walked over to the inner office door, knocked once, then
entered.

Inside was an ordinary business office. A big window on one wall provided a
view of an industrial park. A short, heavy-set man with flat-topped,
greying hair was sitting behind the desk, studying Lucille’s portfolio.
There was no one else in the room. Lucille was disappointed. She had hoped
to meet Directors, Producers and Casting Specialists, all clamouring to
meet the girl who sent in that resume.

The man got to his feet. “Lucille Lawton?” he said, extending a hand,
“Please come in. So glad you could come downtown for us. Have a seat.” He
gestured toward the chairs beside the desk.

“Pleased to meet you…” Lucille began. She paused when she realized the
man had not offered his name. Well, whatever. She took a seat. She crossed
her knees and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Well,” said the interviewer, flipping pages, “I’ve read through your bio
Lucille, and I must say I’m impressed. You may have just the qualities we
need.”

Lucille’s heart leaped. Then she noticed the picture he was looking at.
Unlike her present attire, the bikini she wore in the photograph did not
play down her chest. Or anything else. The heels were a bit much, too. Her
best friend Nikki had insisted she include a few cheesecake shots, so
producers could see her whole figure.

Lucille frowned. Was that all he had looked at? Not the varied acting
experience in her carefully padded resume? Didn’t he realize she was a
Serious Actor?

Flat-top was talking again. “What we’re looking for, Lucille, are actors to
cast in a new film we’ll be shooting over the next few months. I hope you
read the scenario. There are several parts you may be suited for. I have to
ask you though, are you comfortable with frank, adult roles?”

“Oh yes sir,” Lucille replied. “I can handle complex parts very well. I’ve
even done a bit of Shakespeare. It’s all laid out in the bio.” She pointed
to a page on his desk.

“Hmmm, yes, I see,” the man muttered. He put on a pair of heavy black
glasses with lenses like the bottoms of Coke bottles, and scanned the page.
“A lot of stage work, I see.”

Most of Lucille’s stage work was in workshops. Some of it was just
imaginary. “Oh, but I can work with film too,” she responded eagerly. “It’s
merely a matter of adjusting to the intimacy of the camera.” One of her
teachers had used that line once.

The man looked up at her. “Ah, intimacy. That is just the point. Our film
is about intimacy. It’s a love story. A story about passion and desire.
About men and women discovering each other, in every sense. Do you think
you can handle that?”

“Why yes, uh… I think… yes,” Lucille stammered. She had been caught off
guard when the man looked at her. The thick lenses in his spectacles
magnified his eyes, making them look enormous. They dominated his face.
Each blink was like a curtain call.

The well-built blonde recovered quickly. “The scenario you gave me was
titled Each Ordinary Day Love Saves, so I figured it would be adult fare.”

“That’s a misprint. The real title is Horny Beach-Babe Love Slaves.”

“What! It is? You’re not serious. I couldn’t –“

“Is there a problem?” He was still looking at her.

“A problem? Of course there’s a problem! That title is vulgar. It sounds
like… like a smut film or something.”

He studied her calmly. The glasses made his face look like an owl. “I beg
to differ,” he said politely. “The title is clever and cute. In fact it’s
perfectly appropriate.”

Lucille wrinkled a pretty brow. She tried to avoid staring at his
google-eyes. “It… it is?” she managed.

“Of course it is. Our film is a comedy. A romantic comedy. So of course it
has to have an off-beat, amusing title. You see?”

“Why… yes. Yes, I do see that now. It’s a good title.” Lucille felt
better. Horny Beach-Babe Love Slaves was a terrific title for a sweet
romantic comedy. It was light-hearted and evocative without being syrupy.
She wanted this part more than ever.

Her interviewer took his heavy glasses off, much to Lucille’s relief. He
said: “Because this is a romantic comedy for adults, there will be a number
of bedroom scenes. As well, there may be romantic or purely sexual
encounters in… a variety of venues. I hope you are comfortable playing
those sorts of scenes.”

“Sometimes. Other times the activity may be more physical. The screenplay
explores different kinds of sexual attraction.”

“Would I be dressed?”

“Well, maybe. Sometimes. To a greater or lesser degree.”

“What!” Lucille exploded. “You want me to do nude sex scenes? That’s all
together out of the question. I’m an actor, not a porn star! I don’t do
nude scenes. I guess I was right about this film — it is smut!” She got up
to leave.

“Ah, taste, that’s the issue then,” he said, rubbing his hands together in
reflection. “Wouldn’t you agree that different people have different
tastes, in film and in sex, as in everything else?”

“Naturally.” She could hardly argue with that. She watched his magnified
eyes blink a couple of times.

“So it follows, since different people have different tastes, that a nude
sex scene, or even a nude scene involving multiple sex acts, or an
entranced beach bunny screwing an entire team of lifeguards, or a
hypnotized waitress giving a man a blow job underneath a table in a crowded
restaurant, could be considered tasteful if it appeals to the tastes of one
part of the population. Don’t you agree.”

Lucille nodded, watching his eyes. “Why… yes. That would still be
tasteful to somebody, wouldn’t it.” Why hadn’t she seen that before?

“So you wouldn’t mind appearing nude in tasteful sex scenes like those I
just described?”

She smiled. “Of course not. They’re part of the film-maker’s art.” That was
another phrase overheard at a workshop. Lucille wondered if she could get
the part of the waitress. She licked her lips.

“Good!” the man proclaimed. He took off his glasses again. He turned to the
computer on the side of his desk and tapped a few keys.

“Before we go any further, I’d like to get a few personal details for our
files. Let’s start with next of kin.”

Lucille answered his questions as best she could. She told them that her
parents were divorced and living on the other side of the country, that she
didn’t see her brother much, that she worked as a waitress (“in between
roles”) and lived alone. She supposed it was a good sign that he was taking
all this information. Would they bother if she wasn’t Right For The Part?
It was strange though, that he hadn’t asked her to do a reading yet.

Some of the questions were quite personal. Lucille answered them with
growing impatience. When he asked if she had a boyfriend, Lucille balked.
“What — what does that have to do with anything?” she demanded. “Pardon
me, but I can’t see how it’s any of your business!”

The interviewer was squinting at the computer screen, where he had been
typing in Lucille’s answers. He put on his inch-thick glasses and turned to
face her. This guy’s eyesight must be as bad as his manners, Lucille
reflected.

“I beg to differ,” he said calmly. “A production company is not like an
office. We all work together very closely, especially during filming. The
success of the picture depends on everyone doing their part, without
distractions from personal problems. We’re like a big family. And like a
family, we look out for each other. To do that, we need to know what’s
going on in each other’s lives. You can see that, can’t you?”

“Well then, help me out here. Do you have a boyfriend? What’s his name?”

“Bradley,” Lucille sighed, smiling. Ah, beautiful Brad. The best thing that
had happened to her since she had moved to this soulless town. Quiet,
gentle and sincere, Brad was possibly the first man she had met for whom
the statement “With your looks, you should be in pictures” was not just a
line to get into her pants. She’d heard that line since high school, and
after the first half dozen times she had wised up.

Not that Brad was at all lacking in bed. In fact, they were very good
together. She was starting to see herself married to this man.

Four-eyes typed something into the computer. “How long have you been seeing
him?” he asked, without looking up.

“About six months.”

“Really? Are you sure?” He turned to face her. “Perhaps it has been less
than that.”

Lucille was confused. Less than six months? Of course not. She had met Brad
at the restaurant and that had been Feb… or was it March. April? Early
May at the latest. She looked into the interviewer’s slowly blinking eyes.
“Well…uh, maybe less, I… I’m not sure.”

“Maybe it just seems like longer because the fire has gone out of the
relationship. That happens sometimes.”

“No! Of course not. I mean… well, we’ve grown comfortable with each
other.” Lucille felt less conviction than she expected. Things had been
rather tepid lately.

“I see. Does this Bruce fellow satisfy you in bed?”

She forgot to be offended by the question. “His name isn’t Bruce, it’s…
uhm, Brad. Bradley. And yes, he does. Very much so.”

The man peered at her. “I beg to differ,” he said. “Perhaps you have grown
accustomed to Brian’s earnest attempts. He isn’t really capable of
satisfying the needs of a vigorous woman like yourself though, is he?”

Now that she thought about it, Brian, or Brad or whatever, did leave her
hanging sometimes. Quite often as a matter of fact. He was so selfish. He
never gave her more than one good orgasm before he was exhausted and ready
to sleep, while she was ready and waiting for a second and a third. She was
tired of using her fingers all the time.

“You know, you’re right, he is pretty lame. I don’t know why I put up with
it.”

“I suspect it is because you feel sorry for him. You are aware of his
inadequacies but you’re too kind-hearted to let him go. He’s manipulating
you.”

She rested her dainty chin in one hand, considering. “You know, I never
thought of it that way before. He’s just been using me all along.”

“Perhaps its time to break it off,” said the man with the heavy glasses.

Lucille sat up straight in her chair. “You’re darn right it is. This has
gone on long enough. I’ll call him tonight and put an end to it.”

“I’m not sure that would be wise. The man is unpredictable. If you assert
your sexual independence by dumping him, he may see it as a threat to his
fragile manhood. There could be a scene. Possibly even violence.”

“Gosh. I… I hadn’t considered that. What should I do?”

“Why don’t you let us take care of it. Give me his number and we’ll see
that he’s contacted. It’s better that way. No telling when these insecure
controlling types might lose it.”

Good idea, Lucille decided. She gave him what’s-his-name’s home number. Let
him deal with the jerk. She had a Big Career Move in front of her and the
last thing she needed was grief from a psychotic ex-boyfriend. How did she
get involved with that creep in the first place?

The interviewer took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a moment. “I’m
sorry this interview has touched on a sensitive subject for you. You look a
little pale. Listen, before we go on, why don’t you have a drink.”

Lucille tried it. It tasted spicy and strong. She sipped it gingerly.
“That’s um… unusual,” she ventured, trying to remain polite. “I’m not
sure I can –“

“That’s because you’re not drinking it right,” said the man with the
enormous eyes. Looking at him, Lucille felt like a bug looking up into a
microscope. “Try tossing it back in one go. You get a better effect that
way.”

“Well, all right, why not,” Lucille said. She raised the glass to her lips
and downed as much as she could. It burned her throat and she started to
cough. “Wooo, that’s…ack!… Wow,” she sputtered, fanning herself. She
felt a pulse of warmth spreading outward from her chest.

The interviewer leaned forward and filled her glass again. “Have a little
more,” he urged.

“Wait, no I…” Lucille began. The man was looming over her with those eyes
and she forgot what she was saying. She lifted the glass and took another
shot. It didn’t sting so bad this time.

Instantly her glass was refilled. “Work on that while we continue the
interview,” owl-eyes said. “Remember it’s better if you drink it quickly.”

Lucille was already starting to feel a pleasant buzz from the schnapps.
“OK!” she said cheerfully, gulping down some more.

The man picked up one of her photos from his desk. He looked up at her and
back to her photo. He took off his glasses. He seemed puzzled. “Lucille,”
he said, “I admit you might be good for this movie. Frankly, you have the
looks for it, and your experience is impressive.”

Lucille felt a grin spreading across her face. She was going to get the
part! This was her moment to step into the Big Time. She wasn’t clear on
what experience he could possibly be referring to, but her elation and the
schnapps were making it hard to worry about that. “Thank you,” she replied,
“I know I can do it well.” She crossed her knees and tried to assume a look
of quiet confidence. She was still grinning.

But he was still frowning. “There’s one thing I’m uncertain about. To be
blunt, Lucille, in some of these photos you look… well, a little fuller
on top than in person. You didn’t, shall we say, enhance these shots in any
way?”

Lucille was feeling too good to be offended that he was talking about her
tits. “Nope,” she said, thrusting her chest out, “it’s all me.”

Lucille looked down at her substantial chest. She could just make out the
outline of her brassiere through her sweater. It was so prudish; like
something old women wore. Why did she insist on stuffing herself into these
things? She twitched one shoulder uncomfortably.

“Lucille, you are proud of your gorgeous body and I know you love to show
it off,” explained the man behind the desk. “That’s why you dislike hiding
your melons in one of those silly contraptions. Underwear should help you
flaunt your body, not cover it up.”

Lucille twitched again. This stupid boob-binder was driving her crazy. She
felt like she was wearing a strait-jacket. How could anyone see what a sex
bomb she was when she was trussed up like a nun? She looked pleadingly at
the interviewer. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’m terribly uncomfortable. Do
you mind if I –“

He waved a hand. “Be my guest.”

Lucille turned around in her chair and unbuttoned her sweater. She wasn’t
about to undress right in front of him. She wasn’t that kind of girl. It
took some doing, but she managed to unhook her brassiere and slide it off
through one arm of her sweater. She did up the buttons again, a few of them
anyway, then turned back to her interviewer.

“Would you tosh this ‘way for me, please?” she said coyly, holding out the
offending undergarment.

One nice thing about those silly big glasses was that when his eyes went
wide she could really see it. Lucille giggled proudly. She looked down to
admire the way her jumbo jugs spilled out of the half-undone sweater. That
felt so much better. She decided to have another drink to celebrate.

“Well, I can see why you love to flaunt your boobies,” the big man said.
“You foxy babes always know how to advertise your best feature. Oh, here
you go.” He lowered the bottle over her outstretched glass.

“Thanks,” said Lucille, to both the drink and the compliment. She tipped
her glass. She decided she liked schnapps a lot.

The interviewer continued: “Draws attention away from any flaws in your
legs too, I suppose.”

Lucille spilled booze down her cleavage. “What do you mean by that? Wha’s
wrong with my legs?” she demanded.

“Well, nothing, as far as I can tell.” He studied her knee-length skirt
thoughtfully. “It’s just that skirt is so… cautious. I expected a hottie
like you to wear something shorter. A lot shorter. Unless you aren’t
completely confident about your legs.”

Lucille was incensed. “I am confshident of my legsh!” she shot back. It was
hard to make all the words come out right.

The man looked straight at her. “I beg to differ,” he said. She could see
the coloured bands of his irises, swirling around pupils dark as a mine
shaft. “If you were really proud of your legs you would dress to show them
off as much as possible. I can’t believe you are comfortable in drab,
boring skirts like that one. I think you like to wear your skirts short
enough to start a riot. I think you like the idea of having every man in a
room staring at your thighs. You like catching men trying to see if you’re
wearing panties. You like giving them a chance to find out. Isn’t that
right?”

“Ooooh, yes,” Lucille agreed, breathless. She felt her libido rising just
from the delightful images he brought to her mind. She loved to wear her
skirts super-short, even in the dead of winter. She had a killer bod, so
why hide it? She had a closet full of scanty skirts and daring dresses, all
in don’t-bend-over lengths. Didn’t she? Well, no matter, she would have
soon enough.

Why had she worn this hideous thing to an important interview? She must
have been terribly muddled this morning. How could she expect the
interviewer to know if she was Right For The Part if he couldn’t even see
past her knees? (And how could she sweet-talk him into hiring her if she
couldn’t flash her undies now and again?)

“I’m so sorry,” Lucille explained, “this jus’ isn’t like me at all. I… I
must have grabbed the wrong clothes thish morning.” Four- eyes was still
regarding her, disappointment visible in his enlarged eyes.

Inspiration came to her. “Wait a minute! I have an idea,” she pronounced.
“Jus’ ‘scuse me for one moment.” She got to her feet quickly. Too quickly,
it turned out. The room tossed to and fro like a ship in a high sea, and
she lost her balance. She lurched forward, grabbing the edge of the man’s
desk for support. “Whoopsie!” Lucille blurted, giggling. “I think mm li’l
bit drunk.”

The bespectacled interviewer took advantage of the opportunity to take a
good look down Lucille’s half-undone sweater. She felt her nipples
stiffening in excitement. She wondered if he could see them.

After a deliberately long moment the curvaceous young actress got her feet
under her and stood up. She stepped behind one of the high-backed chairs,
her back to the interviewer. Quickly she pulled up her long sweater and
unzipped the side zipper on her skirt. She could hardly wait to get out of
that awful thing.

It was also a great chance for a little acting demonstration. She turned
her head to regard the interviewer over one shoulder. She fixed him with a
smouldering look. “If you thin’ thish skirt is so boring,” she husked,
“then I’ll jus’ have t’ take it off.” Still staring the man in his googly
eyes, she wiggled her tush and slid the skirt down her long legs. It landed
in a pool by her feet. The man was watching avidly, but the big chair
blocked his view.

Lucille tugged her sweater down as far as it would go. It was just long
enough to cover her behind, so she could wear it as a kind of emergency
micro-dress. Actually, it wasn’t quite long enough to hide the bottom of
her panties unless she stretched it, but that was even better. Even in the
block-heeled slip-ons she was wearing, her legs looked spectacular,
smoothed and shaped by her tan pantyhose.

“Mmmmm, tha’ is jus’ so mush better,” Lucille sighed, stepping out from
around the chair. The interviewer had his heavy glasses in one hand, and
was absently rubbing the bridge of his nose with the other. When he looked
up his reaction was everything Lucille hoped for. He looked like he
couldn’t decide whether to memorize her legs or her boobs. Lucille only
wished that her sweater were tighter.

“I feel so free,” she sang, taking a careful step forward. Impulsively, she
reached up and unfastened her hair. It fell down in long, honey-blonde
locks around her shoulders. Her raised arms pulled up the violet sweater
several inches. It contrasted brightly with her simple while panties. It
was some time before the man even noticed the change in her hair.

For a moment, he even smiled. “Now this is the kind of girl we’re looking
for to cast in our movie!” he chortled.

Lucille had almost forgotten about the movie. “Do you– do you really think
I can get a part?” she asked, absently pulled down her sweater. It sprang
back up again.

His eyes were following her hands. “Baby, you could be the star!” he
exclaimed. Lucille clapped her hands in delight. “You have everything we’re
looking for in a female lead,” the man went on, “great looks, natural
charisma, completely uninhibited and sexy as all hell. The best actors
always have a bit of an exhibitionist streak, don’t they.”

Lucille gazed back at him dreamily. He had his glasses on again. She was an
exhibitionist, she freely admitted. She loved it. She exposed her
dick-hardening body at every opportunity. She thought about all the times
she had paraded downtown in a scoop-neck sweater and foot-long mini with no
underthings, flashing beavers and tit-shots at all the gawking men. Wait,
had she really done that? Well anyway she was sure going to this weekend.

Her interviewer was talking again. “In most scenes, you’ll be wearing a
string bikini or similar beachwear with high heels. I’m sure you’ll be
comfortable in that sort of wardrobe.” She nodded smugly. “The important
thing to carry off that look is to get the walk right. Can you walk for me
please? Just across the office.”

Lucille wasn’t sure this was the best time to be demonstrating her walk,
given the amount of schnapps she had consumed, but she gave it a try. She
thrust out her chest and marched boldly across the room, like she was
striding down a Malibu beach. She only had to grab a chair once.

“Not bad,” the interviewer said, “It just needs to be sexed up a little
bit.”

Lucille frowned. “Shexed up? Why? There’s noshing wrong with the way I
walk.”

“I beg to differ,” the man said evenly. He was looking right at her again.
“You want to make your walk as dainty and provocative as possible. It
should emphasize the wiggle of your hips and the sway of your rump. It
should be a primal mating display, radiating signals of desire and
availability in all directions. That’s the sort of walk you need.”

“Put your feet together,” he instructed. “Now imagine a clock face on the
floor. Your left foot is facing 12. When you take a step, put your right
foot at about 11:30. Then put your left foot at 12:30. Go ahead, try it.”

Lucille tried a few tentative steps. She lost her balance a couple of
times, but she soon got the hang of it. She liked the way the cross-over
stride slowed her steps and exaggerated the wiggle of her ass. It would be
impossible to make any speed this way, but what did that matter? It was
soooo sexy. This was the way a Movie Star walked.

The interviewer watched Lucille’s leggy performance with approval. “This
works best of course, with high heels and something really tight. You’ll
want to practice the stride. Do it constantly, every day, until it’s second
nature.”

“Of course,” Lucille agreed. “I’ll have it down pat by the time we shtart
shooting.” She was already planning to practice at the restaurant where she
worked; that should bring up some big tips! “Oh, thank you,” she said,
accepting the drink that he poured for her. She remembered to drink it the
right way. The room started spinning again and she had to sit down. She
forgot to pull her sweater down.

The man pulled his big black glasses off and rubbed one temple. “Lucille,
there’s one more thing. Horny Beach-Babe Love Slaves is a sexy flick. To
make the picture work, we need a star who can make the sex look hot. We
need someone whose mad enthusiasm for carnal pleasure will light up the
screen. Do you think you can do that?”

Lucille listened to the interviewer through a deepening alcoholic fog. She
felt wonderful. She crossed her knees carelessly, admiring the glossy
shimmer of lycra pantyhose on her fine legs. He could probably see right up
to her crotch, but she didn’t care. What was the point when she was wearing
panties? She giggled inanely.

Still, something about what he was saying concerned her. She was a
hot-bodied little tease, but she hardly thought of herself as a strumpet.
“Well, like, I can (hic!) act really hot ‘n’ sexy,” she said, trying to
sound professional, “but ‘course I’m not really like that.”

The big man put his glasses back on and calmly regarded the stunning,
half-dressed, happily drunk blonde facing him. “I beg to differ, babe,” he
said. “I suspect that you are exactly like that. You adore sex. You’re
ready to go at it anywhere, anytime, with anybody. You’re a horny,
hot-blooded love-doll. Isn’t that right?”

“Whatever you say, honey,” Lucille cooed, flicking back her long locks. She
got to her feet, pausing to deliberately smooth down her half-open sweater.
“It’s not my fault that I love fucking so much, is it? I happen to have
this hot, horny li’l body that’s just made for loving.” Swaying unsteadily,
she stepped around the desk to where the man was sitting. She practised The
Walk that he had taught her, to great effect. “An’ when I see a man get all
excited by my firm, fuckable li’l bod, I jus’ have to let him fuck me, an’
it feels so good I always wanna do it again and again.”

She posed in front of him, leaning back against the edge of the desk with
her legs spread slightly. “Tha’s not so bad, is it, darling?” she finished.
She toyed with the collar of her violet sweater, pulling it apart a little
more. One swollen red nipple threatened to pop right out. She hoped
desperately that he would take her right there, on the carpet, or up on the
desk.

Somehow he was still talking about the movie. “Naturally, being as you’re a
shameless exhibitionist and a horny fuck-toy, I presume you have no
reservations about doing anything we ask in front of the camera? Including
blow-jobs, boob fucks, double penetration, gang bangs and lesbian scenes?”

Up close, his outlandish eyes were almost overwhelming. For a fleeting
moment Lucille had another answer in mind (could she have meant to object?)
but the thought was gone in an instant, replaced instead by a burning
desire to do all the things he had described. The only thing she could
imagine that was better than fucking was fucking in front of a camera. The
thought of men everywhere getting hot watching her screw on film was almost
enough to make her cum by itself.

“Oh god, that sounds so wonderful,” the shapely blonde gushed. “Can we
start, like, today?” She ran her tongue around red lips. She could feel
moisture in her panties.

The interviewer was quickly succumbing to Lucille’s charms. “Uhm, why don’t
we, uh, draw up a contract for you right now,” he said, pulling some papers
out of a file.

“A contract?” Lucille exclaimed, “For me? Oh, thank you! Thank you so
much!” She could hardly believe it. It was finally happening: her first
real movie contract! She was on her way to Fame And Fortune now. Maybe when
the signing was finished they could fuck to celebrate.

The interviewer rose and spread out a bunch of legal papers on his desk. He
handed Lucille a fat fountain pen. It reminded her of a nice hard cock.
“Just sign this one here, and here. Date it too.”

“Wha’s all this?” Lucille asked without much interest. She was already
signing sloppily. Bending over to sign the papers, she put her entire
pantied behind on display, while her unbound boobs spilled out the top of
her half-buttoned sweater.

“Oh, standard contract stuff,” the interviewer said, turning slightly to
admire the rear view. “This one gives us access to your bank account — so
we can deposit your cheques of course — and this one gives us power of
attorney over your business affairs and the like. This authorizes us to
close out your lease and move your things into a new apartment. Just in
case that wacko ex- boyfriend or somebody should try to find you.”

Lucille frowned, trying to make her lust-crazed and alcohol-soaked brain
absorb all the forms. “Uhm, I’m not sure I should…” she demurred.

The interviewer bent over beside her. Suddenly his preposterous eyes were
right in front of her again, like a double sunrise on some spectacular
distant planet. “I beg to differ,” he said, calm as ever. “You want to sign
all these papers so you can be a movie star. You trust me. You know I would
only do what’s in your best interest.”

“Why of course, darling,” Lucille agreed immediately. She signed the next
paper without reading it. She was so glad the wonderful man was here to
take care of these mundane chores so she could concentrate on bigger
things, like fucking and making love films and fucking and being a Big
Movie Star.

“Here’s the last one,” he said, sliding another paper in front of her. “If
you’re going to be a famous porn star, you’ll need a better name.” He
thought for a moment. “Hmmm, how about Luscious Love? We’ll call you Lush
for short.”

“Oooh, I love it,” Luscious agreed eagerly. “It sounds so romantic.” It was
the perfect name for a big-time Porn Star like her. He filled in the name
for her and handed her the pen.

“We like to change the name legally. It’s simpler that way.”

Whatever, Luscious thought, impatient to finish. She signed the form,
wondering if she should use her old name or her new one. What was her old
name, anyway? Funny, she was having trouble remembering. Oh well, the new
one was a lot better. All the big porn stars had sexy names.

The interviewer gathered up the signed forms and put them aside. He sat
back in his chair with a grin. “There, we’re all done. Are you ready to
make your first motion picture?”

“Am I ever!” Luscious gushed. She plopped boldly into his lap. “Thank you
ever so mush.” She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.
“Please,” she whispered, nibbling on his chin, “don’t you want to do me
now?”

The man’s giant eyes were growing filmy with desire. Luscious could feel
his hard-on pressing against her behind. “Man, you are a hot one,” he said,
sliding one hand up her nyloned leg. “Eager to please, too. In fact, I
think you will do anything for me. I think you want to be my little love
slave.”

A tiny bit of Lucille’s old spirit rose up. “Love shlave? No, I’m a porn
star, not a slave!” She giggled drunkenly.

The man fixed her with those eyes like searchlights trapping an escaping
prisoner. She couldn’t look away.

“I beg to differ,” he said. “I know you want to be my love slave. Pleasing
me is everything. There is no greater pleasure than obedience.”

“Very well,” he conceded, “Get down on your knees and blow me like there’s
no tomorrow.”

My first command! Luscious thought. She shivered at the pulse of sexual
pleasure that lanced through her. Trembling, she slid to the carpeted floor
and reached for the man’s zipper. “I’m a Horny Porn Star Love Slave,” she
said to herself. The realization was like a high. She felt she could come
at any moment.

She unfastened his pants and drew out his hard member. Her mouth was
watering. She wanted nothing more than to please… who? She looked up at
him. “Darling, I don’t even know your name,” she complained. She licked his
big cock like an ice cream cone.

“Yes, good point.” He considered it. “Why don’t you just call me Master.
Now get busy.”

“Yes. Master.” Luscious replied, and she shivered through a sweet,
unexpected climax. As she slid down from her peak she leaned forward and
took his rod into her mouth as deep as she could.

“Ah, that’s much better,” the man said, surrendering to Lush’s artful
tongue. He took off the heavy glasses and tossed them on the desk. “Those
things give me a headache. I thought with all that booze you would be a
little less work.”